


Hot Blooded Quarantine

by goldenraeofsun



Series: You Shook Me All Quarantine Long [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, COVID-19, Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied off screen violence, M/M, Musician Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Roommates, Teacher Dean Winchester, They were QUARANTINED, Vampire Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun
Summary: “What about crucifixes?” Dean asks as he bites into his sandwich in between tutoring sessions.Cas raises his head to look around their apartment. “I don’t think they would match the decor,” he says blandly.“Fire?”“If there’s enough of it,” Cas admits. “You’d probably never get your security deposit back, though.” He squints at Dean. “Did youGooglevampire weaknesses?”“Silver?” Dean asks innocently.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: You Shook Me All Quarantine Long [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844563
Comments: 76
Kudos: 655
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	Hot Blooded Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much [tiamatv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/) for listening to my half-baked ideas and doing a fabulous beta job! ♥

Dean wakes up with a terrible taste in his mouth, a raging headache, and enough dread to send him wishing for the sweet release of death. He turns over in bed, mashing his face into his pillow. 

_Why_ did he think it’d be such a great idea to make a move on Cas? For fuck’s sake, they’re stuck together in quarantine.

Last night, Dean and Cas made it a week into the pandemic without catching coronavirus or cabin fever. As if that's a big fucking deal. They didn’t need to empty their liquor stash in celebration.

Especially since Cas has the tolerance of a fucking rock. And Dean… does not. At least not anymore.

When he first met Cas, Dean could drink anyone under the table. But then Dean got a real job, and, as chill as Sonny was, he had zero tolerance for drinking while Dean taught his troubled youths guitar.

Dean groans.

A knock sounds on his door. 

“Dean?” Cas asks tentatively, “Are you awake?”

No use putting off the inevitable. 

“Yeah,” Dean rasps. He swallows. “Be out in a second.” He hauls himself up into a sitting position, waits to see if he’s going to puke, and gets to his feet. He emerges from his bedroom in a tee shirt, sweats, and his trusty robe.

“Dean?” Cas turns around, spatula in hand. “How are you feeling?”

Dean ignores the question, gaping at Cas instead. “You’re cooking?”

“I - yes,” Cas says, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He spares a hurried look at the omelette cooking on the stove. “I am making breakfast.”

“You can cook?” Dean asks stupidly. 

In all the years they’ve known each other, Cas has never once indicated he knew his way around a kitchen.

Still, Dean couldn’t have asked for a better roommate. Cas cleans up after himself, pays his share of the rent, and mostly stays out of Dean’s way. He doesn't even eat burritos once a week, lie to Dean’s face about it, and stink up half of the apartment. 

Dean has truly pitied Jess ever since Chipotle started delivering.

The worst Cas ever does is go out into the field to study bats a couple of months out of the year. But he always finds someone to sublet his room. They’re usually a weirdo, but in a good way. Like Cas. 

Cas purses his lips. “Yes, but I don’t particularly enjoy it.”

Dean takes a few steps closer and braces his elbows on the kitchen island separating the kitchen from the living room. “Huh,” he says faintly, taking in the cutting board in the sink, a paper-towel-covered plate of bacon, and the slices of toast sticking up in the toaster.

“Here,” Cas slides the bacon towards Dean, “Your omelette is almost done.”

Dean blinks. “Where’s yours?”

“I already ate,” Cas says crisply as he transfers the omelette to a plate. He’s made it in the French style, rolling the egg into a neat little log. Visually appealing, like Cas. Dean prefers the good old taco-shaped American version, but he’s impressed. 

Dean stuffs a piece of bacon in his mouth. “Fanks.”

One corner of Cas’s mouth rises in the smallest of smiles. “You’re welcome. I imagine you’re hungover.”

Dean swallows. “My head’s killing me,” he admits as he grabs a nearby fork - Cas probably used it to scramble the eggs, but Dean can’t give less of a fuck - and digs in.

“I gave you a few painkillers last night,” Cas says, his brow furrowing, “but maybe they weren’t enough with how much you drank.”

“Holy shit,” Dean gasps. He shuts his mouth before half-chewed omelette falls out, but it’s a close call. “This is fucking delicious.”

Cas smiles, mildly pleased. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Why the hell am I the honorary chef here?” Dean mutters as he takes a bite of toast. “You’re a fucking genius. Are there vegetables too?”

Cas deposits a glass of water in front of him. “I added enough cheese and spice so you don’t taste them.”

Dean doesn’t respond at once, waiting to see if the food unsettles in his stomach. He grimaces as his head throbs.

“I’ll get you some more Tylenol,” Cas says knowingly. He slides out from behind the kitchen island and heads off in the direction of their bathroom.

Dean finishes off a few more pieces of bacon and his slice of toast by the time Cas returns, rattling the bottle of painkillers. Cas carefully shakes out two pills and drops them onto Dean’s waiting palm. 

“About last night-” Cas starts.

Dean shoves an unholy amount of bacon into his mouth.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Cas says delicately, “especially considering we are going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future.”

Dean grunts to show he heard.

“I didn’t mean to offend-”

Dean swallows with difficulty. “‘M not offended,” he cuts in. “I’ve been turned down before, you know.”

Cas licks his lips, and Dean dies inside. Cas picks up a few stray crumbs with the pads of his fingers and shakes them back onto Dean’s plate. Gaze trained on the counter, Cas says in an soothing voice, “I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression. If we can keep living as we are-”

“If you’re not interested, you don’t need to explain yourself,” Dean says, disgruntled. “You don’t need to _convince_ me. I can take a hint.”

Dean was saving the last of his omelette to properly savor it, but fuck that. He spears the last forkful and chews angrily at Cas.

“Right, well,” Cas says awkwardly, straightening. “I don’t want our relationship to be affected.”

Dean sets his fork down. “Good to know.” He strides around Cas and dumps his plate in the sink. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Dean-” Cas calls as Dean’s halfway to the safety of his bedroom.

With a sigh, Dean turns back around. “Look,” he says, fighting to tamp down the frustration and fucking embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole. “I need a little space, okay?” His expression softens as he takes in Cas’s stricken face. “Not forever, Jesus Christ. I am stuck here with you.”

Cas dips his head. “Of course.”

Dean nods jerkily before retreating to his bedroom.

* * *

Dean resolves to get the fuck over himself after a weekend full of wallowing. It’s not like he has anything else to do, stuck in his apartment.

But then he hears and smells _bacon_ cooking outside that evening, and Cas is playing dirty. He peeks out of his bedroom to find Cas again at the stove. 

Over dinner, Cas is his usual unflappable self, and Dean does his best to muddle through the awkwardness.

After that, Dean almost fools himself into thinking things are back to the weird almost-normal of their first week of quarantine. He gives guitar lessons over Zoom during the day, eats dinner at night, and catches a few hours of mindless television with Cas until he goes to bed.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Dean even picked up a few new students - adults, mostly, who are stuck at home and are looking for a new hobby to fixate on. When he’s not teaching, Dean cracks open his songwriting notebook and tries to finish the tunes he never finished when he was trying to go pro.

Cas breaks routine on Friday by making himself scarce the whole fucking day. When Dean knocks on his door at dinnertime, Cas says he’s not hungry. 

Dean shrugs and eats his stir fry by himself. They never spent this much time together before quarantine - maybe Cas needs some Cas-time. Could be a TGIF thing. Dean flips on an Underworld marathon and deliberately doesn't think about it.

All of Saturday, Cas doesn't step one foot outside his bedroom.

By Sunday evening, Dean’s ready to take a battering ram to Cas’s door.

“Dude, you okay in there? Have you eaten recently? _Showered?”_ he calls before getting up to investigate himself. He shamelessly presses his ear to the door, every nerve in his body poised to jump back and play it cool at the first sign of movement.

A faint creaking of Cas’s bed. 

Exactly two heavy footsteps. A cleared throat.

Finally: “I’m fine, Dean.”

Except Cas doens’t sound fucking fine. The son of a bitch sounds like he’s come down with a cold, tonsillitis, _and_ seasonal allergies. His normally deep voice is almost too low to hear.

Dean hammers on the door once. “You don’t sound good.”

“Go away.”

Dean tries the knob, but it’s locked. He swallows down the panic and tries to stay calm. It doesn’t really work. “I can’t help you from out here!”

“I don’t need your help!” Cas says heatedly, in a sharp contrast to the weakness in his voice.

“Clearly, you fucking do!” Dean fumes. “Look, if you’re worried about infecting me or something, I can stay out of the common areas while you get the pills and make yourself soup or whatever.”

Cas sighs. Or maybe it’s Dean’s imagination, the sound is so faint. “Please go away.”

“No,” Dean says mulishly. “What if you pass out or something?”

“I am not going to faint,” Cas protests.

“If you don’t let me in,” Dean threatens, “I’ll break down the door.”

Cas groans, and it sounds like two pieces of sandpaper rasping together. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” Dean says grimly.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Dean pounds his fist against the wood. “I don’t fucking care! Just… lemme see you’re not going to keel over in the next half hour, and I’ll leave you alone.”

The door opens and Dean nearly falls flat on his face. He straightens, accusations of plague dying in his throat.

Cas looks… normal. Hair rumpled as ever. Clothes a bit wrinkled. A little pale, but maybe that’s the dim lighting in his room.

Dean gapes. “You’re-”

“Fine,” Cas mutters, his mouth barely opening.

“Okay,” Dean says, eyes narrowing. He takes a step closer, hand outstretched to feel Cas’s forehead for fever, but Cas backs away out of reach, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Seriously?” Dean complains. This is worse than when Sammy got the flu before his junior year finals but insisted on going to school. The moron could barely lift his head to give Dean Bitchface No. 5.

Dean eventually got him to see reason, and he will do the same to Cas.

Well, Dean’s not about to sit on Cas until he gives up and passes out from fatigue, but he’ll figure something out.

(He’ll totally sit on Cas if he has to.)

“You’ve been acting weird, man. Weirder than normal,” Dean says. He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t give any ground either. 

Cas scowls. “As you can see, I am perfectly fine.”

“Because perfectly fine people don’t eat or poop for two days,” Dean retorts. “Something’s wrong with you, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what it is.” 

Impossibly, Cas’s frown deepens further. “I can’t.”

Dean forces the hurt down. If Cas doesn’t want to braid hair and have a slumber party on the living room floor, that’s not Dean’s problem. But, if Cas has some mutant coronavirus, and Dean is the only person in the vicinity who can get Cas the help he needs, that is definitely Dean’s problem.

“At least let me call Jess,” Dean says reasonably. “She’s not that kind of doctor, but maybe she can help you.”

Cas’s jaw clenches. “You were never going to leave me alone once I opened the door, were you?”

“No.”

Cas exhales an explosive sigh. “Fine,” he says, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I won’t trouble you any longer.” He strides out of the room, past a shellshocked Dean.

Dean hurries to catch up. “Where are you going?” he demands as Cas yanks the front door open. “Hey!”

Cas pauses on the threshold, his face half-turned toward Dean. In a low voice, he says, “You’re not my keeper, Dean. I don’t owe you any explanations.”

Cas leaves. He doesn’t even take a mask.

* * * 

Dean jumps up from the couch when he hears Cas’s footsteps outside the door. For the past hour, he had been waiting up, plucking uselessly at his guitar. His songwriting notebook lies face-down on the floor, untouched from where Dean threw it when he fucked up the lyrics for the fourth time in a row. 

Dean is almost at the door by the time Cas's key turns in the lock. But his irate protests die on his tongue as he takes Cas in, looking more like a Carrie extra than a professor. The smell of all the blood staining down Cas’s shirt almost makes Dean gag. Recoiling, he takes an automatic step back.

“I was hungry,” Cas says weakly.

“So you decided to go out and murder your own cow?” Dean asks, eyebrows rising. His hands tremble as he touches a light finger to the brightest splotch of red on Cas’s normally pristine button-down.

Cas swallows and looks away. “Not a cow, no,” he says as he lists against the doorway.

“What the hell did you _do?”_ Dean asks, one hand already out to steady Cas as he closes the door behind him. “If you’re having some psychotic break,” he says carefully, “I’ll call Jess - since she _is_ that sort of doctor.”

Cas staggers over to the couch, shaking his head. “I don’t need a psychiatrist,” he says with a crazed sort of chuckle, “or maybe I’ve needed one for centuries. Regardless, I’ve gotten by this far without.”

“Right,” Dean says doubtfully, his gaze trained on Cas’s face -which, unlike the rest of him, is only smeared with blood, not dripping. “I’ll call Jess. You just… sit tight. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Cas sighs and slumps back against the cushions. “It’s a little late for that.”

Dean looks up from his phone, Jess’s contact shining brightly from the screen. “What did you _do?”_ he repeats. He swallows, voicing the thought niggling at the back of his mind since Cas came in looking like a bystander in a slasher movie, “Did you hurt someone?”

Cas doesn’t say anything for the longest second of Dean’s life. He nods.

“Fuck.” Dean’s hand clenches around his phone. _“Why?”_

Cas blinks up at him, brows furrowed. “You want to know why? Isn’t it enough that I came in looking like this,” he gestures with a vague hand to his torso, “and confessed?”

“I’m still leaning towards psychotic break, but if it’s not that, then you must’ve had a good reason.” Dean stares down at Cas.

Cas shakes his head, but not in denial, more like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “I told you,” he says, his tone bleak, “I was hungry.”

Dean takes a large step back, almost trips over the coffee table, and nearly has a heart attack. Breathing heavily, he says, “Did you machete the Gas ‘n Sip guy ‘cause he took too long to nuke the taquitos, or is this more of a Hannibal type situation?”

“What does the military commander have to do with anything?” Cas asks, baffled.

Dean grimaces. “Not that Hannibal - Hannibal Lecter, the serial killer cannibal?” he says. “‘Quid pro quo, Clarice’,” he quotes to Cas’s blank face. “Seriously? Nothing?”

“Oh,” Cas says, his eyes widening. “Then yes, a cannibalistic serial killer would be more apt.”

Dean’s whole body tenses, his pulse spiking. He swallows, the haze of his panic and adrenaline making it hard to think clearly. “What did you do with the body?”

Cas tilts his head, studying him. “You would like to know?”

Dean makes a helpless sort of noise in the back of his throat. “Peace of mind, you know?” He doesn’t add _before you kill me too._ Maybe if Dean keeps Cas talking, he can delay the inevitable?

No, that’s stupid. He’s seen Cas walk and talk at the same time. Cas can definitely murder and talk at the same time.

Cas starts to get up, freezing as Dean scurries backwards, nearly toppling over their TV as his ass knocks into the stand. Cas settles back on the couch, staring down at his blood-stained hands. “I stayed with him until the paramedics arrived. I’m not sure what they did with him after that.”

Dean gapes. “You didn’t kill him?”

“Nearly,” Cas says darkly. “It was closer than I’ve come in a long while.”

Maybe Dean will survive this after all. “How long’s it been?”

Cas scrunches up his face. “I was working for the Smithsonian. I think Reagan was president - or he was on the campaign trail. He visited for a fundraiser. ”

“You were working... when Reagan was in office?” Dean asks, frowning. “What, was it a take your kid to work day? How old _were_ you when this started?”

Cas smiles wryly. “I don’t remember how old I am now. I certainly don’t know how old I was then.”

“Seriously,” Dean says, eyes narrowing, “You must’ve been a teenager.”

Cas actually laughs. “I haven’t been a teenager in centuries.”

Maybe Cas _is_ having an episode. It’s the second time he’s mentioned _centuries_ in the past five minutes, not to mention the whole almost-murder thing. “What?” Dean asks intelligently.

Cas squints at him. “Since the fall of Constantinople,” he says, like that clears up anything. At Dean’s blank look, Cas adds, “In 1453.”

Dean’s brain whites out for a moment. He says hoarsely, “You’re telling me you’re almost six hundred years old?”

“It’s on the older side for a vampire, but not completely unreasonable,” Cas says with a small shrug. “Balthazar remembers Caesar. He never lets anyone forget.”

“Hang on,” Dean says holding up a hand, refusing to get derailed by _fucking Balthazar,_ the English snob who rented Cas’s room last year for a month, “You’re a vampire?”

Cas blinks. “Yes? I told you-”

“You said you were a cannibal serial killer!” Dean yelps, hands flailing in the air. “How am I supposed to go from that to _vampire?”_

“It’s the logical next step,” Cas argues.

“It is _not.”_

“You thought I was eating people for the taste?” Cas asks, repulsed. “I’ve consumed some human flesh _by accident_ several times,and I hope to never again.”

Dean shouldn’t be standing for this conversation. Honestly, he doesn’t know which is worse - Cas the serial killer or Cas the vampire. Either way, he could probably murder Dean just as easily on the other side of the room as on the same sofa. He staggers over to the couch. “Kinda outside my wheelhouse, buddy.”

Cas’s eyes narrow shrewdly. “You seem to be taking this very calmly.”

“How should I be taking it?”

Cas’s shoulders curl in on himself. “Running and screaming are popular options,” he mutters. 

“We have neighbors who’ve already made noise complaints,” Dean points out. “And where the fuck am I gonna run to? We’re under quarantine. There’s a pandemic outside.”

“And a vampire inside,” Cas stresses.

“Yeah, but,” Dean flaps his hand in Cas’s general direction, “no germs in here.”

Cas adds flatly, “I eat people.”

“You _just_ said you don’t do that.”

Cas rolls his eyes, harder this time. “Fine, I drink people’s blood.”

“If I had to choose a way to go, you’ll probably make it quick, and that's better than dying alone in the ICU,” Dean babbles, not really sure where the words are coming from - maybe it’s his impending death making his brain-to-mouth filter seem less important now, “with a tube down my throat.” 

Cas tilts his head, considering. “I don’t have to make it quick,” he says in a low voice. “I could drain you slowly, draw it out over days, weeks… feeding on you until you can barely lift your head; until you beg me to taste that final drop; until you plead with me to have mercy and end it all.”

If Cas was trying to scare Dean, he fails miserably. Dean shifts on the couch, glad for once that he chose to wear jeans instead of his pajama pants. The zipper is digging into his crotch, but at least he’s not visibly sporting a semi.

Cas’s nostrils flare. 

Dean’s face is on fire.

“I can hear your heartbeat quicken.”

“‘Cause that doesn’t cross boundaries,” Dean mutters, because fuck Cas for calling him out like that.

Cas’s eyes narrow. “But you don’t smell scared.”

 _“Dude_.”

“I can smell a wide range of emotions and physical ailments,” Cas says, completely missing the point of Dean’s very pointed ‘ _dude._ ’ “I once diagnosed a colleague with a bladder infection.” Cas grimaces. “He did not take kindly to being made aware of his condition.”

Dean snorts despite himself. “No shit.”

Cas sits back, eyes wide and unblinking. “I don’t understand.”

“What? My boundaries are normal - can’t say the same for yours. What if Jess started telling random strangers they have anxiety or OCD? That’d be fucked up.”

“No,” Cas shakes his head, “I don’t understand why you are just sitting there when I told you I regularly feed on people.”

“I already told you, the pandemic-”

Cas cuts him off with a frustrated noise. “If you really cared about the coronavirus, you wouldn’t have gone to the gas station for lube and pornographic magazines after I had gone to the grocery store the day before.”

“I have needs,” Dean protests weakly.

“Which apparently do not include self-preservation,” Cas says, a tad exasperated.

Dean throws his hands in the air. “What do you want from me? Is this how you get off, playing mind games with your food?”

Cas draws back, horrified. “You’re not food.”

Dean’s eyes rake up and down Cas’s face, waiting for a tell to give him away. “I’m not?”

Cas shakes his head vigorously. “But why aren’t you demanding I leave?”

“I can do that?”

“Of course you can,” Cas says, looking stricken. “I don’t kill people, if I can help it. But I’ve been starving for the past two weeks, and I had a momentary lapse of control. I did what I could, but he still might have died at the hospital.” He catches sight of Dean’s stunned expression and says, “I only came back so I could gather my things. I knew you would have questions,” he gestures to his blood-stained shirt, “and I didn’t have any answers but the truth.” He gets to his feet. “If you’d like to go to your room, I can pack within a half hour.”

Dean has his hand gripped around Cas’s wrist before his brain catches up. He says the first thing that pops into his head. “Don’t go.”

Cas doesn’t shake him off. “You want me to stay?” he asks, each word measured.

Dean nods dumbly.

“Why?” Cas swallows. “I could kill you.”

“You haven’t so far.”

“That’s no guarantee.”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s enough for me.”

* * *

“Can you turn into a bat?” Dean asks as he sits down for breakfast.

On the other side of the kitchen island, Cas chokes on air. “No,” he says, glaring, even as he pushes a mug full of coffee towards Dean.

Dean holds his hands up in the air. “You’re the resident bat guy. I’m just connecting the dots.”

“Stoker was misinformed on the vast majority of our physiology,” Cas says darkly as he deposits a plate stacked high with pancakes in front of Dean and gestures for him to eat.

“Then why are you studying them?”

“They’re fascinating creatures. They form the largest aggregations of mammals except for homo sapiens. They have social systems similar to whales, dolphins, and primates,” Cas says, the nerd. “They are also the most efficient long-distance pollinators, even better than bees. Before this, I was researching guinea pigs. I was,” he hesitates, blue eyes trained on Dean’s face, “aging out of my old position. I leveraged my experience with small mammals to take this job.”

“How long were you there for?”

“Ten years,” Cas says heavily, his eyes faraway. “It was nice, but it was time to move on.”

“I’m guessing you don’t get older?”

Cas shakes his head. “I usually start dyeing my hair after six years, and adopt glasses after eight.”

“Huh,” Dean says as he _does not_ imagine what Cas would look like in glasses. “It’s not easy to start over after you’ve gotten settled.”

“No matter how many times I do it, it doesn't get easier,” Cas agrees heavily.

Dean stabs a piece of pancake. “I get it. Every time he had to start a new school ’cause of Dad’s job, Sam would whine for days.”

“And you?”

Dean shrugs. “Wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Complaining only made it worse.”

Cas dips his head. “Yes, that’s very similar to my experience.”

Dean shovels more pancake into his mouth, eyes narrowed as Cas stares at him. “What?” he says after he swallows. “I got something on my face?”

“No,” Cas says as he looks away. “It’s just - I can hardly believe you’re still here.”

“If you keep feeding me like this, you’ll have to pry me off you with a crowbar,” Dean says with a lightness he doesn't really feel. “So the sun thing, obviously false?”

“That’s mostly true.”

“But I’ve…” Dean drifts off, a vivid memory coming to mind of picking Cas up from the airport, daylight streaming through his Baby’s windows.

“For young vampires,” Cas adds. “We build up immunity over the years. A newly turned vampire exposed to sunlight would suffer almost immediate third degree burns. It takes about a century for its effects to diminish to that of a mild sunburn.”

“You don’t sparkle?”

“Excuse me?”

Dean’s mouth drops open. “You’ve never seen Twilight?”

Cas’s brow furrows. “Is that a film?”

“A series of movies,” Dean corrects, “and books too.”

“No,” Cas shakes his head, “It’s not worth keeping up on pop culture if it will be useless in fifty years. I have more important information to retain.”

“But it’s all about vampires!”

“Then I imagine it would only anger me to see the inaccuracies.”

“Would you really get angry at sparkling vampires? It’s more embarrassing, if you ask me.”

Cas grimaces. “The vampires sparkle?” he asks, resigned.

“Yup,” Dean says, feeling only slightly bad for the glee in his voice. He slaps his hand down on the counter. “We’ll marathon them tonight. Get you all caught up.”

Cas’s frown deepens. “Do I have to?”

“I’ll be playing them whether you watch ’em with me or not.” There were only so many places Cas could hide out in their apartment, anyway. 

Cas sighs. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

As Dean watches Cas during the meadow scene, he might as well have been force-feeding him garlic bread with a side of holy water, judging by the look on his face.

* * *

 _“Can_ you eat garlic?” Dean asks as he munches on a sandwich in between afternoon tutoring sessions. In the morning, he had Ben Braeden who sightread Blackbird like a pro. Then Krissy, who, surprise, surprise, actually practiced for once. 

After lunch, he has Max Banes, who spends more time flirting than playing. With a decent meal in his stomach, Dean won’t snap _jail-bait_ every time Max wears his patience down. Dean appreciates Max’s boldness, but Dean’s tastes clearly veer _much_ older than high schoolers - centuries older.

Cas glances up from his computer, looking vaguely annoyed at being interrupted. “As much as I can eat any other food meant for humans.”

“Which means?”

“It gives me severe indigestion,” he mutters, “akin to lactose intolerance.”

Dean struggles to keep a straight face. “So, diarrhea, farting, the works?”

Cas, looking completely mortified, gives a tiny nod.

Dean bursts out laughing. “Vampires get the runs! Who knew?”

“It is highly unpleasant,” Cas says as he turns back to his computer. “If you don’t mind, I have work.”

“’Course,” Dean says as he salutes him with his sandwich. He gives Cas maybe a minute before he prompts, “Crucifixes?”

Cas sighs and raises his head to look around the apartment. “I don’t think they would match the decor,” he says blandly.

“Holy water?”

“Do you have any on hand?” Cas asks, eyebrows raised. “All the churches in the state are closed.”

“Silver?”

“It burns,” Cas admits. “Wounds from silver will heal on a human timeline, rather than our normal accelerated one.” He squints at Dean. “Did you _Google_ vampire weaknesses?”

“Fire?” Dean asks innocently.

“If there’s enough of it. You’d probably never get your security deposit back, though.”

“Beheading?”

“That would only make me stronger.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. He closes it just in time to keep half-chewed sandwich from falling to the floor. “Seriously?”

“No, Dean. I’d be decapitated.”

* * *

“Any plans for this weekend?” Dean jokes as he stretches out, socked feet propped up on the coffee table. Ben just finished putting on a mini concert for his mom with Dean playing bass to harmonize, and he fucking killed it. Lisa almost cried. What a way to end a Friday.

On the other end of the couch, Cas scowls. “Of course not. We’re in quarantine.”

“Me neither,” Dean says as if Cas couldn’t suss it out for himself. He shoots him a narrow-eyed look. “I would’ve thought you’d need to grab a, you know, _bite_ by now.” He waggles his eyebrows knowingly.

Cas sighs. “Soon. It’s harder to stop feeding if I’m starving beforehand.”

“I get that,” Dean says sagely. “Sam once dragged me on some overnight vegan camping trip for brotherly bonding. Never again. So much freaking trail mix.” He shudders. “When we got back to the hotel, I ate half the breakfast buffet. It wasn’t even _good,_ but you know?”

Cas’s lips thin, like he’s trying not to smile. “I don’t think it’s quite the same thing.”

“It is, and you know it,” Dean says as he turns down the volume on Jeopardy! “So what’re you going to do?”

Cas’s shoulders slump. “Probably something very similar to last time. It’s only been a week, so hopefully I can control myself.” He bites his lip. “If I feed off two people, I could possibly go longer without.”

“How many, uh, people did you usually eat?”

“Before the pandemic?” Cas drums his fingers against his thigh. “I divided my intake evenly between live feeding and skimming from the blood bank.”

“You can drink that stuff?”

“It’s not as appetizing cold, but I can get by.” His mouth purses. “Obviously, now the blood bank has more urgent needs than serving an otherwise healthy vampire. Live feedings aren’t much better, since most people out are essential workers, but I need to choose the lesser evil.”

Dean snaps his mouth shut. There’s a clear third option, but he suspects Cas would never bring it up himself. 

Dean can already hear Sam’s voice in his head, _Don’t be stupid, Dean._

But Dean’s not being stupid. Cas needs to feed, and if he has to choose between a minimum-wage, overworked grocery store employee on an unfortunately timed smoke break or Dean, it’s not really a choice at all.

And if Cas only needs to feed once a week, Dean will have plenty of time to recoup. It’s not like Dean is living a strenuous life - sitting on his ass, stuck in his apartment, teaching kids and bored suburban dads angling to be the next Springsteen.

“You could feed on me,” Dean blurts.

Cas freezes.

“I mean, I’m right here,” Dean starts hesitantly, “and I’m healthy and stuff. I think. And maybe you’d have better control, maybe? ’Cause it’s me?”

“You’re not _food,_ Dean,” Cas says, his voice ice cold.

“But that’s not really true, is it?” Dean asks. “If you wanted, you could do it.”

Cas shakes his head, his eyes hard. “I won’t feed on you.”

Fine, it’s not like Cas has never turned Dean down before. And this doesn’t hurt as much as that, even though Dean had enough alcohol in his system to dull the pain of _that_ rejection.

“Why not?” Dean tries, unable to keep the threads of desperation in his voice. “You couldn’t ask for a more convenient-”

“I’m not going to drink from you because you’re _convenient,”_ Cas hisses, almost spitting the word. 

“But I am-”

“No.”

Heatedly, Dean starts, “You’re telling me you’d rather risk an innocent stranger than-”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Cas threatens.

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Look, I know the risks. I’m just saying, it’s an option, okay?”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s like you have zero self-preservation instincts.”

“Maybe I don’t want to bail your sorry ass out of jail when you murder someone by accident,” Dean retorts. Cas’s stony expression cracks, and Dean would stuff the words back in his mouth if he could.

Cas gets up. “I’m not having this discussion with you,” he says stiffly. “Goodnight.”

Dean sits with his head in his hands as Trebek announces the next category: 15TH CENTURY EVENTS. He watches the rest of the episode in a regretful daze.

In the morning, Cas emerges from his bedroom to tell Dean he’ll consider it.

It doesn’t feel like much of a victory.

* * *

In the end, Cas gives him two days to change his mind. Any longer, and Cas risks losing control of his hunger.

The next afternoon, Dean has his mask and grocery list in hand before Cas stops him. “I’ll go.”

“What?” Dean asks, “Why?”

Cas throws him an unimpressed look. “Because you’re risking your health unnecessarily by going outside? I can’t get sick,” he says wryly as he takes the mask from Dean. He scans the list. “Orange juice? Kale?”

“I should probably be eating better if I’m eating for two,” Dean says awkwardly.

Cas snorts. “You’re not pregnant, Dean.”

“I know that, jackass.” Dean tries to swipe the list back, but Cas shoves it into his pocket.

“You’re very confident this is going to work out,” Cas says as he puts the mask on his face.

Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “Maybe I just want to be healthier, ever think of that?”

“You’ve never eaten kale in your life,” Cas says dryly, patting his pants for his keys and wallet. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Maybe I wanted to try it.”

“A hundred and one telephone conversations with your brother about your eating habits suggest otherwise.”

“Those were private calls!”

Cas’s eyebrows rise. “Then you shouldn’t have had them within hearing distance.”

“What, like on the roof of the building?” Dean scoffs.

“That would be a start.”

Dean gives him a light shove on the shoulder. “Get outta here.”

Cas leaves with a twinkle in his eye, and Dean has the irrational urge to punch a wall. Instead, he picks up his guitar.

Cas returns as Dean’s coasting through the chorus, _“I'm hot blooded, check it and see, I got a fever of a hundred and three-”_

“Don’t stop on my account,” Cas says as he lets the door close behind him and carries the groceries to the kitchen island.

“No, I was almost done,” Dean lies as he sets his guitar down and wanders over. “What’d you get?”

Cas looks up, halfway through one huge grocery bag. “I got some extra things. I was thinking burgers tonight?”

Dean smirks. Ground beef was not on his original shopping list. “Buttering me up for something?”

Cas grimaces. “The opposite. I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind on this ridiculous, self-sacrificing endeav-”

“I won’t.” 

“Then at least you’ll have your favorite as a last meal,” Cas says darkly as he turns to open the refrigerator.

“Hey,” Dean says, his face serious, “I believe in you. I know you can do it.”

Cas mutters under his breath, too low for Dean’s human ears. 

“Where did you learn to cook, anyway?” Dean asks as he inspects a bag of potatoes. “I don’t think they had cheeseburgers in the Dark Ages.”

“All over,” Cas says as he finishes putting the groceries away. “Shortly after the Byzantine Empire fell, my family and I fled north, fearing religious persecution from the Ottomans. I was turned shortly after settling in modern day Romania.” He grimaces. “Specifically, the Principality of Transylvania. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Dean starts. “Wait, like Dracula Transylvania?”

“The same,” Cas sighs. “By the time my family arrived, there was already a strong vampire presence in the area. The witch trials started in earnest a few decades later, so we adjusted to living semi-nomadically.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “And why’d you learn to cook if you can’t eat?”

Cas ducks his head. “I used to enjoy food. As a child, I would eat the bread my mother baked, covered by the jam my siblings and I stewed and prepared. When I was turned, my bodily reactions to food changed, but the urge to eat did not.”

“That’s a goddamn tragedy,” Dean declares. “You still want food but can’t eat it? That’s some O. Henry bullshit.”

Cas shrugs. “One of the great prices of immortality.” The corners of his mouth lift up in a small smile. “For a while, I deemed the adverse reactions worth it. I took work in restaurants all over, learning how to prepare food so I could sample it, get just a taste. It didn’t matter if I was… indisposed for the evening afterwards.”

“If you wanna eat human food,” Dean says, “I won’t stop you. You can get free rein on the bathroom post-dinner. I’ve lived with Sam after a bad burrito. I can live with you too.”

“I’ll probably take you up on that offer.” His fleeting smile disappears. “Probably not tonight, though.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, I don’t want you feeding and shitting on me at the same time. Might put me off the whole thing.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

* * *

“Fifteen minutes to go,” Cas says, his spine ramrod straight, as they sit on the couch in front of a mindless sitcom to wait out the hour post-dinner, pre-feeding. “You can always back out, you know.”

Dean turns to him, incredulous. “This was my idea!”

“You can still change your mind,” Cas says under his breath.

Dean spins his full glass of orange juice in his hands. “If you really don’t want to do this, I can’t force you. I figured you’d be more… comfortable here.” He sets it back down on the coffee table. “But you obviously aren’t.”

“Dean-”

“I just wanted to show you I was okay with all this,” he says, gesturing up and down Cas’s body. “That you don’t need to get the hell out of dodge because you think _I’m afraid_ or something stupid.” He heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ll turn on the local news - you can scope out where the mask protesters are and go to town.”

Dean is already changing channels by the time Cas speaks, his voice so low Dean hardly picks up his words, “I’m not afraid of that,” Cas says, eyes downcast. “I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me when I’m feeding.”

“I mean, I already know it’ll hurt,” Dean says. “What’s worse than that?”

Cas’s gestures to his face. “You’ll probably be expecting the teeth. But my eyes will also change - dilate, so they’re almost black.” He scoffs. “It’s so we can better see our prey as we hunt.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “None of this is scaring me off yet.”

“My saliva contains a surface-level analgesic and anticoagulants,” Cas says clinically.

Dean frowns. “Now in real-people terms for people who didn’t serve as WWII medics.”

“It has painkillers and blood thinners that prevent clotting,” Cas explains. “It won’t actually be that painful of an experience. You’ll bleed more than you’re expecting, however.”

Dean grins. “I’m still game.”

Cas runs a hand down his face, his eyes unbearably bleak. “I’m afraid you’ll see me as a monster.”

Dean freezes, his smile fading. “You’re not a monster, Cas.”

“Aren’t I?” he asks rhetorically. “I prey on humans to survive. I defy the laws of nature by my very existence. What other definition is there?”

“I dunno,” Dean says awkwardly, “Just… not you.”

“That’s what you think now,” Cas says, subdued.

“That’s what I’ll think in ten minutes too,” Dean says gently. “Come on, I trust you not to kill me. Don’t you trust me not to think that about you?”

“I suppose,” Cas says grumpily.

“Alright,” Dean announces loudly, making Cas jump. “C’mere.”

Cas, resigned, scoots maybe an inch closer.

“You said you got fangs, but I don’t think they’re that long,” Dean says skeptically.

Cas rolls his eyes and moves closer. Their thighs press together, and Dean’s whole leg tingles. Up this close, Cas’s eyes look impossibly blue. 

Dean gulps.

Cas’s eyes drop to Dean’s throat, and Dean resists the urge to swallow again.

Has his pulse always been this loud? It thunders in his ears as Cas leans in, nostrils flaring.

Cas hesitates, his breath ghosting along the tender skin of Dean’s neck.

“Cas?” Dean twists a little to keep him in view. “Something wrong?”

Cas ducks his head, “No,” he coughs. “Sorry.”

“No problem, dude,” Dean says, hitching an uneasy grin on his face. “Ready when you are.”

When Cas leans in again, Dean braces himself for the sharp puncture of teeth above his jugular. 

He gets lips instead. 

Cas is pressing an open-mouthed kiss, there’s no other word for it, against Dean’s neck. His lips worry the tender skin. A warm, slick tug of suction against his pulse point before Cas breathes out, a whisper of an exhale that sends shivers down Dean’s spine. And Cas’s _tongue-_

“You biting or making out with me, Cas?” Dean asks in a strangled voice. 

Cas flinches back. “Sorry,” he repeats huskily. “It sometimes takes a moment for the analgesic to take effect. I want to make it as painless as possible.”

Dean’s neck isn’t feeling any pain. He can’t say the same for his crotch.

Cas licks his lips, flashing a hint of his elongated canines. He taps the side of Dean’s throat with a hesitant finger, and Dean feels the faintest nudge of pressure. Cas’s eyes bore into Dean’s face. “How does it feel?”

Dean frowns. “A little numb, I guess?”

Cas nods, satisfied. “Okay, I’m going to drink from you now.”

Dean snorts. “No ‘I vant to suck your blood’?”

Faster than Dean’s eyes can follow, Cas ducks his head and bites him.

Dean recoils reflexively, but Cas’s fingers tighten like bands on Dean’s upper arms. When did they even get there?

Cas makes a little noise at the back of his throat, a muted version of Dean’s porno groan when he dug into Cas’s homemade cheeseburger during dinner, and Dean _melts._ He sags in Cas’s arms, and Cas gamely keeps him upright as he takes in another strong pull. Another shiver courses down Dean’s entire body, goosebumps spreading down his arms.

Jesus Christ, he can _smell_ Cas pressed this close - fresh laundry, mixed with a gentle foreign spiciness Dean can’t name.

Like Cas said, Dean barely feels the wound, a vague tugging every time Cas swallows and sucks more blood into his mouth.

He drifts.

Cas lets him go all too soon. His lips are smeared with red, but his chin is relatively clean, and his entire front is free of the lurid splatters that freaked Dean out the first time.

“Here,” Cas says, subdued, as he reaches for a clean towel and holds it to Dean’s neck. “It will bleed for a few minutes.” When Dean reaches up to take over, their hands brush, and Dean resists the urge to yank Cas even closer so he can put his mouth where Dean really wants it.

Cas shoves the glass of orange juice into Dean’s other hand.

Dean takes a small sip, wincing as his swallow tugs on the wound. Sensation creeps back, starting with the gross tackiness of the blood sticking to his skin and the towel.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks worriedly, peering into his eyes. “Should I call a doctor?”

“I’m more out of it after a food coma, dude.” Dean waves away his concern. “‘M fine.”

“You should drink that entire glass,” Cas says, the tension in his face easing as Dean doesn't keel over and expire right in front of him.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You lost a lot of blood-”

“No shit.”

“-And it will take a few hours before you feel back to normal.”

“Duh.”

Cas sighs. “Okay, then,” he says, avoiding Dean’s eyes as he gets to his feet. “I - I don’t know how to thank you enough for this, Dean.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says as he toasts him with his half-empty glass of orange juice. “Wasn’t like I had any other plans tonight.”

“Yes, but,” Cas runs a hand through his hair, looking weirdly stressed for a dude who just ate for the first time in a week, “you didn’t have to do this. I completely understand if it was a one-time offer.”

Dean frowns, and a serious face is much harder to pull off when he’s this lightheaded. “It wasn’t.”

Cas shakes his head, still agitated. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to… take care of me by doing this. I _can_ feed from strangers. I know the first time shocked you, but I am normally much more discreet.”

Dean’s sluggish brain struggles to keep up with the crap coming out of Cas’s mouth. Eventually, he says, “I mean, if you’d rather, I dunno, hunt for your food or something,” he says, confused, “don’t let me stop you. But I like taking care of you.”

Cas’s eyes go wide, and Dean should really learn to keep his mouth fucking shut. Cas is a 600-year-old vampire - stronger, faster, and smarter than any regular, boring, old human, or even an ideal one. Never mind Dean Winchester, who’s so far from the ideal human, it isn’t even funny.

“It’s not an obligation or some shit like that,” Dean mutters, not that it does much good judging by the shock splashed across Cas’s face.

“I - well,” Cas stutters, clearly uncomfortable.

Dean’s stomach twists, so he gets to his feet, staggering a little. Cas’s hands reach out to steady him - because of course they do. “I’m gonna turn in,” Dean mutters, jerking his thumb towards his bedroom door. “Wake me up if you want a midnight snack, okay?”

Cas musters a weak chuckle. “Of course, Dean.”

“’Night.”

* * *

The next morning, Cas treats Dean to an enormous breakfast of eggs, toast, home fries with plenty of onion and bell pepper, and a mountain of bacon.

Dean digs in with gusto, thanking Cas with his mouth full of food.

“You want any?” Dean asks as Cas wipes down the counter with a sponge. “I could save you a piece of bacon, if you want.”

“How generous,” Cas deadpans. “But no thank you. I have a virtual seminar to monitor in an hour, and, while my students might find it amusing if I have to run for the toilet in the middle, I certainly won’t.”

Dean snorts. “I would’ve gone to more classes if my teachers were more like you, for sure.”

“You went to college?” Cas asks, looking mildly surprised.

Dean shrugs and piles an egg onto a slice of toast. “For about a year before I dropped out.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“‘S easier to say I never went since I didn’t stick around long enough to learn anything,” Dean says before cramming half the piece of toast into his mouth. He chews as Cas looks at him contemplatively, hoping that Cas will drop the subject if he takes too long to elaborate.

“What were you studying?”

No dice. Dean makes a face as he stabs a fried piece potato with his fork. “Music.”

“That makes sense,” Cas says placidly. “Why did you drop out?”

Dean sighs. “I was in a band,” he says dully, “and we seemed to be hitting it off. It looked like we had a shot for a decent tour, so we took it - fucked off right before finals.” He chuckles under his breath, the sound completely devoid of humor. “We broke up right after the first gig. I couldn’t go back to school and couldn’t tell Sam I dropped out for no reason, so I decided to finish the tour as a solo artist.”

“I take it, it did not work out?” Cas asks delicately.

“No, but I stuck it out for a year.”

Cas nods. “That’s very admirable.”

“Not what I would call it.”

“Why not?” Cas asks, eyebrows raised. “You took a risk, and, I’m sure, learned a great deal.”

Dean shrugs. He learned living on the road was an adventure when he was a kid, but a total shitshow when he was an adult. He invented about a dozen ways to make mac and cheese. He also gave up on his pipe dream of making music like his idols.

“I didn’t make it,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

“Did you like being on tour?”

“Not especially.”

One corner of Cas’s mouth lifts up in a half-smile. “I’m not surprised.”

Dean snaps a piece of bacon between his teeth.

“I mean to say, you are very attached to this place, your home,” Cas says, one hand gesturing to their apartment, “I honestly can’t imagine you having a good time constantly uprooting yourself.”

It's nice of Cas to give an upside to Dean’s failure. Dean busies himself with mopping up all the runny egg yolk and potato grease with another piece of toast.

Cas eyes Dean speculatively before reaching over to snag Dean’s second-to-last piece of bacon. “Risks are more about the thrill of taking a chance than the outcome, anyway.” He pops it in his mouth.

Dean stares as Cas chews, a beatific expression on his face.

* * *

“Yahtzee!” Dean exclaims as he pries open his package at the kitchen counter.

At the kitchen table, Cas looks up from his computer. “What did you order? We are running short on paper tow-”

Dean triumphantly holds up box sets of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and True Blood. He checked: The Vampire Diaries is already on Netflix.

“Oh no,” Cas mutters as he ducks back behind his screen.

“Research, Cas,” Dean says as he carries his bounty over to the television. “Since you said I shouldn’t Google vamp shit.”

Only Cas’s wild hair is visible, but that doesn’t stop him from asking sourly, “So you resorted to pop culture?”

“Hasn’t failed me yet.”

“This is coming from the man who made me watch all _four_ Twilight movies?”

“Shut up, they were hilarious.”

“If I ever have designs on a teenager, stake me.”

Dean grins. “Same.”

Cas raises his head, considering. “And waste a perfectly good meal?”

Dean's phone beeps glances at his watch. “Shit, I have to videochat with Sam in fifteen minutes.” He mournfully sets down the box sets. Cas’s second-hand vampire embarrassment will have to wait a few hours.

Cas slumps in his seat, relieved. “How is Sam doing?”

“Been better,” Dean says as he flips open his laptop on the coffee table. “Remote law school sucks.” He glances up. “You could always drop in. He’s still never met you. Probably thinks I made you up at this point.”

Cas types a few words out on his keyboard and shuts his computer. “You used to invite me to dinner with him and his girlfriend.”

“Right,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck, as he sits down on the couch and spins the laptop screen around. “Yeah, sorry. You’ve always - it was a stupid idea.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Cas says, waving a hand dismissively.

Dean scowls.

“I did go to great lengths to make you think I ate meals regularly,” Cas continues as he makes his way to the couch. 

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Is that why you always turned me down?”

“I barely managed to hide my lack of appetite from you,” Cas says frankly as he sits down next to Dean. “It would have been an exercise in futility to attempt it in front of three people.”

“That’s the only reason?”

Cas tilts his head. “You love your brother very much. And I like you. Why wouldn’t I want to meet him?”

“No reason,” Dean says with a disbelieving laugh. “No reason at all.”

* * *

They’re lying on the couch - well, Dean’s lying, towel pressed to his neck until the puncture wounds close, and Cas is sitting upright, scowling at the television.

“Sookie is a ridiculous name,” he mutters, “and, for that matter, so is Buffy.”

“Says _Castiel,”_ Dean retorts without any heat. “We’re halfway through season two. This is occurring to you now?”

Cas pokes him in the thigh. “Castiel is the Angel of Thursday.”

“You know,” Dean starts, his voice lazy and unfocused, “If you’re not feeling this one, Alex recommended a bunch of new vampire shows. I had no idea she-

“Not enough media is not the problem,” Cas cuts him off.

“Suit yourself,” Dean says, smirking as he closes his eyes. Cas doesn't have anything to add, and Dean almost falls asleep to the sound of fake ambient cicadas when hesitant fingers touch his neck.

“Has it stopped bleeding?” Cas asks.

Dean sits up and pulls the towel away for Cas to check, wincing as the dried blood tugs at his skin.

“Almost,” Cas tuts, peering down.

Dean sighs and flops back. “Wake me up when someone dies.”

“That’s morbid of you,” Cas says mildly.

“Says the _vampire,”_ Dean said, eyes shut.

“If you haven’t noticed, my daily life isn’t filled with death and destruction.”

“That’s ’cause we put a ban on 24-hour cable news channels,” Dean groans. “Just flip on CNN. You’ll get all the gloom and doom crap you want.”

“Be that as it may,” Cas says, “most vampires I know don’t murder humans on a weekly basis.”

“’Cause you only hang out with the boring old ones.”

Cas considers this. “That’s probably true.” He twists around in his seat, his face concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine?” Dean says, nonplussed. “’M laying down, got my orange juice, ’n you’re watching over me. It’s all good.”

Cas reaches for him, and Dean is already moving the towel for Cas to check on his healing, when Cas's hand settles in Dean's hair. He cards his fingers through the too-long strands for one brief, fleeting second before settling back in his seat. 

Dean doesn’t breathe.

“Sleep, Dean,” Cas says with a small smile. “I’ll wake you if anyone dies.”

* * *

Cas is plastered over him, chests flush together, and Dean would be in heaven if Cas wasn’t drinking his blood to stay undead. Still, this is still pretty awesome.

“I’m almost done,” Cas breaks away to murmur in Dean’s ear, “no more than a minute more.” He dives back in, _licking a stripe_ up Dean’s neck to catch the trail of blood that dribbled down while he was speaking.

And fuck it, Dean is in _hell_.

Honestly, he’s a little surprised there’s enough left for Cas to drink from his neck when it seems like all his blood zoomed south the moment Cas’s fangs sank into his neck. He’s rock hard in his jeans (now a necessity on feeding day), and one more minute is too much time and not enough time.

He fidgets in Cas’s hold, and his hard-on brushes up against Cas’s stomach.

Cas freezes.

“Shit, sorry,” Dean mumbles, drowning under the weight of his embarrassment. “Ignore it.”

But Cas is already pulling away.

“No,” Dean says weakly, “Keep going.”

Cas shakes his head grimly and hands Dean the towel. “We should stop here.”

“Whatever you want,” Dean says, his voice small as he takes the towel and raises it to his neck.

Cas sighs. “Dean, we should talk.”

“Or we could not-”

“I know you become… aroused every time I feed on you.”

If he thought Cas would drain him dry, suck up every last drop, and put him out of his misery, Dean would rip open his own neck right now. This cannot be happening.

“It’s a normal response, for some people,” Cas continues delicately.

“Sure,” Dean says, his face flaming.

“There are people with your... condition well-known by the vampire community.”

“Condition?” Dean echoes, brow furrowing. He gets that Cas is sometimes a few decades out of date with his lingo, but it’s still not cool to call _homosexuality_ a condition. Or bisexuality, in Dean’s case. He opens his mouth to set Cas straight, but Cas beats him to it.

“A blood kink, people now call it.”

Dean stares.

“And while I appreciate your generosity,” Cas goes on, oblivious to how fucking wrong he is, “I don’t think I can keep feeding from you in good conscience.”

“I do not have a _blood kink,”_ Dean splutters.

“But you,” he gestures at Dean’s lap, “do.”

“Dude,” Dean says, and _how_ could Cas not get it? “It’s not a blood thing. It’s a _you_ thing.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “Because I feed on you.”

“No, you dumbass, it’s because you’re all close and shit, and you have your mouth all over me, and I’m only fucking human, okay?” 

Raising his voice was not a good idea. Dean’s head throbs, and he slumps back on the cushions like a nineteenth century heroine with a bad case of the vapors. His life is such a joke.

Cas’s mouth falls open, and Dean would laugh since Cas’s fangs are still out, but he doesn’t have the energy.

“I told you to drop it, but you couldn’t fucking let it go.” Dean closes his eyes, and that helps the ache in his head a little. “Look, you haven’t let my thing for you get in the way so far, so it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

When Cas doesn’t respond, Dean opens his eyes.

According to Cas’s face, this is a _very_ big deal.

“Cas? It doesn’t change anything.” Dean struggles to keep the panic out of his voice. “You don’t have to keep feeding on me if you think it’s wrong or whatever, but we’re still good, right?”

Cas nods slowly, and the coiled tension in Dean eases.

“Great,” Dean murmurs as he lets his eyes go half-lidded. “More True Blood? Or maybe The Vampire Diar-”

“You’re attracted to me,” Cas says, half question and half statement.

Dean squints at him. “We’re rehashing this now? My head hurts.”

“You know I’m a vampire,” Cas presses.

“Kind of hard to miss with a pint of my blood going AWOL,” Dean retorts.

“And you still-” Cas breaks off to run a hand through his hair. He twists in his seat, leaning over Dean with dark eyes. “You still want me.”

“Thanks for rubbing it in,” Dean says sourly.

“I’m not rubbing -” Cas bites out, frustrated, “I’m trying to believe it myself.”

“My hard dick wasn’t enough of a clue for you?” 

Cas blushes, Dean’s donated blood filling his cheeks. “I thought that was purely sexual. But when you approached me that first weekend in quarantine, you were asking for... more than that.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says as he drops his gaze, “We all know how _that_ ended.”

“I turned you down,” Cas says evenly, “because it would have been dishonest to enter a relationship when you thought I was human.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

Cas bites his lip as he cradles Dean’s cheek with his palm. The tip of his finger slides behind Dean's ear, stroking the smooth skin there. “If you want me, you already have me, Dean.”

“I - ” Dean starts, unable to help leaning into Cas’s touch. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I suppose there is a first time for everything,” Cas says, a hint of a smile playing around his now fangless mouth. “But for now, can I kiss you?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean says faintly.

Cas tastes like blood and Mediterranean spices.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as [goldenraeofsun](https://goldenraeofsun.tumblr.com/), and always open to prompts if you liked this Supernatural Quarantine series! If you want to reblog (♥) this one, the link is [here](https://goldenraeofsun.tumblr.com/post/624266251156504577/hot-blooded-quarantine)


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